Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“What?”
“Three days, and her husband never called the police? And now this? What kind of husband doesn’t report his wife missing?”
“What if they always have huge arguments and she tends to go off without saying where she was. Of course, I’m reaching.”
“They have kids. He would have still wanted to know when she was coming back to help out or something.”
The whole situation was terrifying, and this new twist only deepened the mystery.
Scarlett went crazy filling her notebook with observations, hypotheses, and countless questions.
Look at her. Detective Bestie.
Scarlett’s determination was contagious, and I couldn’t help but become a part of her quest for the truth. Her investigation became my distraction, a way to channel my sadness into something tangible, something that demanded focus and attention.
The connection between the two victims was elusive, and the contrast between them only added to the confusion.
The first victim, Takisha James, was a black prostitute who had run away from home 10 years ago.
Therefore, she had spent most of her life on the streets, drifting from place to place, her family connections severed, her life marked by hardship and despair. She had been known to the local police, her face familiar in certain circles, but few had really known her.
Which was probably why her death had been treated with a grim inevitability, a tragic but not entirely unexpected end to a difficult life.
Scarlett shook her head. “Takisha deserved better.”
The second victim’s life was a stark contrast to the first. Renee Byrd had been active with her church, devoted to her community, and was the mother of three kids. Her days were filled with family gatherings, school functions, and charity work.
Her husband, despite the suspicious delay in reporting her missing, was known as a loving partner.
Scarlett continued to mutter to herself, piecing together the information.
Renee had no known enemies, no debts, no apparent reason to be targeted in such a brutal way. Her life had been ordinary, perhaps even mundane, filled with PTA meetings, Sunday church services, and neighborhood gatherings.
“Why her? And why the playground?” Scarlett mused, her fingers drumming on her notebook.
I swallowed down ice cream. “What do you think the connection is, Scarlett?”
She looked up from her notes. “There has to be something that links these two women. Something that explains why they were targeted.”
We spent the rest of the night poring over the details, Scarlett’s mind whirring like a machine as she dissected every piece of information.
But it was the husband’s behavior that continued to nag at Scarlett.
I could only watch and marvel at her determination, knowing that she wouldn’t rest until she had found the truth, no matter where it led.
By the evening, I shifted my junk food gorging to chips and guacamole, and joined Scarlett in her internet search on the victims’ lives.
The FBI’s involvement had brought new urgency, but it had also opened up new avenues of investigation.
That evening, Scarlett reached out to contacts, dug through social media, and even planned to visit the places where both women had been seen in their last days.
While Takisha’s life was a maze of dead ends on social media, Renee’s life was an open book all over Facebook and Instagram. She even had a cooking tik tok channel where she recorded herself making different meals.
Hours passed with us going over all of Renee’s social media posts.
But in the end, Scarlett wasn’t exactly Sherlock and I definitely was not Watson.
Nothing really came up.
Therefore, Scarlett shifted her research to past serial killers that used fire in their murders, and I tried to help but. . .eventually I fell deep into sleep on the couch.
There, I dreamed of Tristan.
We strolled into a grand ballroom, adorned with glittering chandeliers and lush velvet drapes.
We both wore masks.
Mine boasted feathers and sparkling gems.
Pearls decorated Tristan’s elegant gold mask.
Though our faces were concealed, our eyes met with an intense connection.
Tristan took my hand and led me onto the dance floor. We moved as one, our bodies swaying to the music, lost in each other.
Soon, the other dancers faded away, and it was just him and me, locked in a dance that was both passionate and tender.
His lips were close to my ear, whispering sweet nothings that made my heart flutter and my cheeks flush with warmth.
Then, something slammed and woke me up.
My heart pounded.
I jumped, blinking my eyes through the confusion.
The dream slipped away like sand spilling through my fingers.
“Nova. Nova.” Scarlett shook my arm. “I think I got it.”
“What the hell?!” I yawned and shoved her away. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“The church.”
I rubbed my eyes and realized that sunlight was now filling the space.
Is it Monday morning already? Fuck. I have a lecture.
Scarlett snapped her fingers in front of me. “It’s the church.”
I looked back at her. “What?”
“The second victim, Renee was active in her church, and the first victim. . .” Scarlett showed me an image on her phone and then zoomed in. “Takisha is right here waiting in line at the church’s soup kitchen.”